Second Chance
by aa cohen
Summary: How do you let go of your love for a women who was never really yours? Chandler struggles to let go with the help of an unexpected friend. Chandler and Joey Slash & AU story
1. Default Chapter

_A/N: In this story Joey does not know Chandler or the rest of the group. _

_Also, later on there will be gay themes so if that sort of thing bothers you, please do not read this. I am giving you a fair warning right here and now, so do not read this and then read the story and then send me reviews saying that I'm sick. If you do, everyone will know that you're an idiot, let alone ignorant, because I warned you._

Frankie helped me get the man we called Jack Daniels back inside the bar and I searched his pockets for some identification. I found his wallet but all it had was a great deal of money and a single picture of a beautiful dark haired woman. There was nothing to indicate who he was.

"What do we do with him?" Frankie asked, looking down at the unconscious man.

"We make him a bed and let him sleep it off," I answered, standing and heading towards the back where I knew we had a bed and some blankets.

"I'm not leaving him here alone, Joey. We don't have any idea who he is," Frankie argued as he followed me to the back.

"Which is why he's got no where else to sleep but here. Don't worry about it, Frankie. I'll stay here with him. It won't be the first time I crash in the back," I answered.

There had been a number of nights when I had been to exhausted to go home and had made my bed in the back room among the boxes and dust on the tiny cot that was back there. I quickly pulled out some blankets and made the bed as Frankie continued to argue with me.

"Have you looked at who you are arguing with?" I asked him. He stood silent for a moment and looked at me then shook his head in defeat.

"All right. Fine," he mumbled as we walked back out front.

"Now help me get him to the bed," I said, lifting the stranger who slept, unaware of what was going on around him. We got him into the back and gently laid him down on the cot. I covered him and then walked Frankie to the door.

"Are you sure you really want to stay here alone with him?" he asked.

"I'll be fine," I assured the big burly man with a smile.

"And what if he wakes up a raving lunatic with a hangover?"

"Frankie, go home to Maggie and the kids. I'll see you tomorrow," I said gently pushing him out the door. I smiled at him through the dirty glass and locked the door.

I made the nightly rounds that included, closing the blinds, cleaning the tables, counting the money and restocking the shelves. There was no one for me to go home to and Frankie had a family of his own so I took care of most of the clean up. It was nearly four o'clock in the morning when I turned off the lights and headed back to the stranger who had stolen the cot I would have slept on. I piled some blankets up in a corner and curled up to watch him. I wondered what his story was. What was the pain that drove him here and drove him to drink till he slipped into a world without the pain. I still couldn't tell much about him in the dark but I knew he had brown hair and pale skin, with a little bit of facial hair. I lay in the dark staring at his still form wondering what his pain was until finally sleep took over my body and I drifted into my own world of dreams.

------------------

The thrashing and screaming tore me from my peaceful sleep and I woke up to see my stranger tossing and turning as he cried out in his tortured slumber. I crawled to him from my place in the floor and attempt to wake him.

"No," he screamed out. "Please don't leave me. Please. Don't go. Don't let me go. Please," he begged of his dream.

"Hey. Hey, wake up," I said, shaking him gently. He still thrashed about the bed as if in pain and finally I grabbed his shoulders and gave him a hard shake.

"No," he screamed, sitting straight up.

"It's all right. It was only a dream," I tried to reassure him. He jerked away from me and looked around the darkened stock room.

"Where am I?" he demanded.

"In the stock room of the Lonely Star on 38th Street. You passed out just outside the door when you tried to leave," I answered.

"Why didn't you send me home?" he continued.

"You're not carrying any I.D., Jack Daniels," I countered.

"What did you call me?" "Jack Daniels. No I.D. so I have to call you something. Seems JD is your drink of choice so it's all I have to go on. So you got a name?" I asked, watching as his eyes continued to search the tiny room.

"Jack Daniels works fine for now," he answered, finally turning his eyes back to me.

"Who are you?"

"Joey Tribbiani, I'm the bartender and sometimes the waiter here."

"Yeah, I remember that much. What are you doing here with me?"

"You really expect me to leave some drunk I don't know alone in the back of my bar?" I asked him, raising my eyebrows in question.

He didn't answer.

"Anyway, what are you going to do now? Try and get some more sleep here or try and catch a cab home?" I asked.

"What home?" I heard him mumbled as he struggled to untangle himself from the blankets and stand.

"Be still for a moment," I ordered, gently shifting the blankets to uncover his body.

"There," I said, moving back once again.

He looked at me in silence for a moment before standing and shaking his head. He mumbled a thank you and headed for the front door.

"Hey, Jack Daniels! Can I ask you something before you go?" I questioned. He turned and looked at me with a waiting expression.

"The picture in your wallet. Is she the reason you're trying to drown yourself in drink?" I asked. I watched his eyes cloud over in pain before he quickly turned and left the bar.

"That's what I thought," I whispered to the empty bar.


	2. Chapter 2

  
  
I went home after that, showered, slept, dressed and headed back to work later that day. I smiled at Frankie as I came through the door and hit the jukebox in just the right place so it started playing without any money.

"You know something would be terribly wrong with the world if I didn't hear that song once a day," Frankie said, smiling as the sound of Garth Brooks' "Friends In Low Places." I had been playing that song on the jukebox since the day I started work there. It was by accident of course, I put money in for something else and when it wouldn't work, I hit it.

"Something would be terribly wrong with the world, Frankie boy, if we didn't have friends in low places," I answered. I tossed my backpack under the bar.

"So how did it go with Jack Daniels?" Frankie asked.

"Fine. He left at about eight o'clock this morning." I said, turning on the open sign in the window.

"Did he give you a name?"

"Nope. Said Jack Daniels worked just fine for him." I shrugged and poured myself a cup of coffee.

"Don't shrug at me, Joey. I know what's going on in your head. You like him," Frankie pointed out.

"Oh yeah, Frankie. I fall for all the drunks with broken hearts who won't tell me their names," I said, sarcastically.

"But he's a broken heart, and for you that's something you just can't bear. You like him and you want to help him."

"Frankie, I want to help everybody," I answered as the first customer came in. "Hey, Sam," I greeted one of the regulars. And that was how the evening progressed. Some regulars, some strangers and some simply looking for a bathroom or directions wandered in.

I enjoyed my job, but my real occupation was acting. This was just a temporary job to pay the bills, but it quickly became a second job. It wasn't glamorous and it didn't pay much but I met some great people, and made some good friends. Sure it had it's moments where the dirty dingy bars got their reputations. A drunk who refused to leave or a bar fight that caused damage, but for the most part the Lonely Star was a quiet little bar with good people. It was just after eight o'clock when my stranger walked back into the bar. He looked at me for only a moment before bowing his head and heading straight to the stool that had become his own.

"Your friend is back," Frankie yelled over the music as I picked up an order.

"You saw him first," I shot back, smiling as I walked away. Though I brushed off the reference of the stranger being mine I watched him all night. He drank regularly, never moving, He just drank from the bottle of Jack Daniels he ordered when he came in. When that bottle ran out he ordered another and drank from it. As the customers cleared out at two o'clock I said good-bye to each of them with a smile. When I turned back to the bar I saw Jack Daniels passed out once again, this time slumped against the bar.

"Damn it," I mumbled. "Frankie, give me a hand?"

"Wake him up," Frankie answered, shaking his head.

"Frankie, he's passed out. Just help me get him into the back. When he wakes up I'll get a name, an address, something that will get him home next time he does this," I ordered, pulling Jack Daniels' slumped body up. Frankie helped me get him back in the storeroom and on to the cot. Then after going through the "are you sure you'll be all right" speech I walked him to the door and locked it behind him. I cleaned up going through the nightly ritual before heading back to the storeroom and checking on my stranger.

I watched him in the dim light of the moon at spilled through the window and I let my thoughts drift around him. I wondered still about his name, his history, the people he loved. Why didn't anyone look for him? Why did he spend all his nights alone inside a bar? Where were the people who loved him, who worried about him, who wanted him to come home?

His thrashing and screaming once again interrupted my sleep. I crawled over to him and gently touched his face. I didn't try to wake him this time, just tried to soothe the nightmares that attacked him.

"Please, don't leave me. I love you. Don't go," he cried out.

"Shh," I whispered, running a hand along his face in a gentle touch. "Shh."

"Please, don't leave me here without you," he whispered, his hands suddenly reaching out and grabbing me. He pulled me into his arms and simply held me and that seemed to soothe his dreams. I lay there in his arms for just a few minutes wondering what to do and then I made up my mind. I snuggled closer to this man who's heart hurt so very much and I went back to sleep in his arms. Whoever this man was, he needed me to heal the pain he carried inside his heart.

When I woke up the next time it was to the bright sunlight streaming through the window.

"Are you awake?" his voice asked me.

"Yes," I answered, looking up at him.

"How did you get over here? I mean how did you get from the pile of blankets in the corner to my arms?" he asked, quietly.

"You were having a nightmare, kicking and screaming. When I tried to soothe you so you could sleep you kept begging someone not to leave you. Then you grabbed me and when you had me in your arms your nightmare stopped," I explained.

"I loved her very much. She was my best friend and all the beautiful moments in my life. She made everything perfect for me, for everyone in our lives. The truth is I was in love with her but she was married so she was always there but just out of my reach where I wanted to hold her the most," he said, spilling his secret though I hadn't asked.

"What is her name?" I whispered.

"Was. What was her name," he corrected.

"What happened to her?"

"She died two years ago," he answered. "She was so full of life though. Every moment had this kind of magic, she saw things most people couldn't even imagine."

"Did you tell her you loved her?" I asked.

"Yes, every time I saw her. I never told her I was in love with her though. She was mad about her husband and I could never come between that." It must have suddenly occurred to him what he was doing but he pushed me away and bolted off the bed. "I have to go," he said, heading for the door.

"Wait," I yelled. He spun back and looked me dead in the eye and for the first time I could tell they were the most beautiful shade of blue. They were like the ocean water surrounding a tropical island, you could have gotten lost in them.

"Frankie's not going to let you crash here again. If you come back and pass out again you're on the street. I need a name or an address. Something to get you home, Jack Daniels," I said, watching him. He stood silent for a moment staring at me before shaking his head.

"If I pass out again leave me on the street," and with those words he turned and left the bar.

When I came back into work later that day Frankie asked if I had found out Jack Daniels' real name. I replied honestly saying no, but then I lied saying he had given me an address to send him home to if he passed out again. I held my breath for most of the night waiting for him to come in. I wondered for a while if he would now that he had bared so much to me earlier that day. Some part of me sighed in relief when I saw him come through that door just after eight o'clock though.

"He's back," Frankie pointed out.

"I know," I answered, trying to appear as if I didn't care.

"Did you find out what his story is yet?"

"Broken heart. The woman he loved died," I answered, watching him out of the corner of my eye as he nursed yet another bottle of Jack Daniels.

"Must have just died," Frankie added.

"Two years ago," I answered, moving away to take another order. Just before two o'clock I watched him try and stand before collapsing next to the bar.

"Damn it," Frankie mumbled.

"Leave him be, Frankie. I'll get him into a cab. Don't worry about it. Go home to the girls. Give them my love," I said.

"You sure you can pick him up?"

"Oh c'mon, look at him, he's nothing but skin and bones. He's not heavy. I just make you help because I like to bug you. I can handle him. I'll see you tomorrow," I said, as he headed for the door.

"I meant what I said, Joey. I don't want him sleeping in the back room anymore," Frankie warned. "I promise, Frankie." I waved at him as I locked the door then set about cleaning. Jack Daniels never moved an inch from where he lay against the bar on the floor. At a quarter after three I picked him up and carried him out of bar as I hailed a cab. Giving the driver directions to my place I took my heartbroken stranger home with me.

It didn't take much to get him inside my apartment and lay him on the sofa. I got some blankets and a pillow and made a makeshift bed for him. Sitting on the edge of the sofa, I ran a hand through his hair. How awful was his pain that he didn't even want to tell his name to make sure he got home? How broken was his heart that he no longer cared if he was left in the storeroom of a bar or on the streets outside of it? "Who are you, Jack Daniels?" I whispered. When his nightmare once again woke me I left my bed to go to him. He was crying out once again for the love he had lost but the moment I touched him he quieted and pulled me to him. His nightmare became a dream and I became the woman he had lost. As night turned to day I felt him stirring beneath me. This time I spoke first.

"Are you awake?" I whispered.

"Yes. Where am I?" he asked.

"My apartment. I couldn't bear to just leave you on the streets and I promised Frankie not to leave you in the storeroom again. So here you are," I answered.

"You brought me home with you?" he asked, his voice stunned.

"Sorry. I don't make enough money to get you a room at the Hilton," I teased.

"You don't even know me. What if I was some crazed axe murderer?"

"Then you would have killed me the first night in the storeroom," I answered.

"You trust too much," he said,

"And you hurt too much," I countered.

"My pain doesn't hurt anyone else. If you got killed I'm sure someone would mourn you."

"A few people at the bar maybe, and my family," I answered.

"No girlfriend, wife, lover?"

"Ah no, I'm gay."

"Oh, sorry. No boyfriend, husband, lover?"

"Not a decent one. Not many gay men come into a bar like the one I work in. I'm also an actor, I meet men there but most of them are arrogant and only want a one night stand. Not my idea of love," I joked.

"Love is for idiots," he replied softly.

"Why do you say that?" "Because in the end you always love the wrong person and then you lose them. I lost her to her husband, then I lost her to death."

"Did you lose her or did you just not get as much of her heart as you wanted? Sometimes the greatest love we ever know is the love we take for granted," I said, holding on to him tighter. I wondered if now that he was awake he'd push me away, but he never moved and just continued to talk.

"I didn't take her for granted. I loved everything about her and I loved the way she loved me," he answered. "But you wanted more."

"I wanted her to love me the way I loved her and I wanted her to be with me forever. Only she gave up. She just died."

"Don't you know the people we love live forever in our love?" "She use to say that," he whispered, his hand unknowingly in my hair.

"What's your name, Jack Daniels?" I asked, quietly.

"Chandler. My name is Chandler," he finally answered.


	3. Chapter 3

  
  
Chandler left shortly after that without another word, but he stayed in my thoughts until I went into work again later that day. He was opening up to me and for that I was thankful. Maybe I could do something to help him heal. When I walked into the bar later that day, Frankie smiled at me as I hit the jukebox and once again started the music. 

"Did you get Jack Daniels into a cab all right?" he asked.

"Yeah, no prob," I answered, smiling.

When Chandler walked into the bar that night his eyes immediately found me. His only greeting, a slight nod before he found his place at the bar and ordered his bottle of Jack Daniels. I watched him throughout the night, but his drinking wasn't as heavy as it usually was. When one of my customers pointed it out I was watching him, I smiled.

"Nancy, you know you're the only one I love," I said, kissing the older woman's cheek. "I didn't say you loved him, dear," Nancy pointed out with a sly grin. I shook my head at her with a smile and headed back to the bar to get a new round of drinks. I found myself leaning over right next to Chandler.

"Hi," I whispered, pretending that I wasn't really talking to him. He didn't answer though. He didn't even look up or even move to indicate he had heard me. I watched him from the corner of my eye but it seemed as if the only thing he cared about was the glass of JD in front of him. I nodded as if understanding his silence and moved away with my drinks.

At two o'clock, I watched him stand, toss down some money to cover his tab and head for the door. I waited, a part of me hoping he would be able to walk out and a part of me hoping he wouldn't so I could talk to him again. He stopped at the door and turned to look at me. He stared at me for the longest time before he nodded his head slightly and opened the door. I watched him through the window but he didn't go anywhere. He simply stopped and leaned against the building outside. He never moved, never looked up. He just stood there. I didn't say anything to Frankie as I bid him goodnight but when he walked out Chandler was gone. I shrugged it off and went through the clean up and restocking.

At three o'clock, I headed for the door. I had just locked it and turned around when Chandler stepped out. I gave a little yelp as he took me by surprise, "What in the hell are you doing?" I asked him

"I just wanted to say thank you for giving me a place to stay the last few nights. I didn't want to go home and I guess that's why I got drunk enough to pass out. Maybe I thought if I was too drunk to walk I wouldn't have to go back to that empty apartment," he explained. I smiled gently at him. "I thought maybe I could walk with you a little bit. I noticed when I left this morning you don't live to far from here. I guess the cab was for my benefit," he said, his shoulders hunched and his head down as if ashamed.  
"Well actually it's not that hard to pick you up and carry you," I teased. "But I would like it if you walked with me for a bit."  
He nodded and we began to walk towards my apartment. For the first few minutes neither one of us spoke. Then finally Chandler broke the silence.  
"Silence, it's an awful sound," he said, quietly.  
"Why do you say that?" I asked, looking at him as we walked.  
"Silence let's in all the thoughts, all the emotions you try so hard to keep at bay. That's what I like about the bar. The noise, the people, they block it all out and they never ask anything of you."  
"Except me," I teased.  
"Except you. Only you're different. You don't demand I be a part of it all. You offer me the chance and if I decline you simply walk away."  
"Where are your friends, Chandler? Where are all the people who love you?" I asked, touching his face.  
"I've shut them out of my life for the most part. They remind me so much of her. I can't even bear to see her kids and they are so beautiful. It just hurts so much."  
"Don't you think they miss you though?" I asked, stopping outside of my door.  
"They are better off without my pain."  
I nodded and looked toward my door then back at him.  
"All you have is an empty apartment to go to," I stated more than asked. He nodded, looking away sadly. "I have a sofa you can use if you don't want to go home," I offered.  
He looked at me and for the first time I saw the touch of a smile on his lips. "Thank you."  
I made Chandler a bed on the sofa then knelt beside him when he laid down.  
"Will you be all right, Jack Daniels?" I asked him, tucking the blanket around him.  
"I hope so," he answered.  
"Does your nightmare plague you every night?"  
"More often then not."  
"Have you been having it since her death?" He nodded yes to my question and turned away. "What was her name, Chandler?"  
"Monica," he answered.

I lay awake that night waiting for him to call out to the woman he dreamt of. In his sleep we were the same person and when I heard him cry out I didn't hesitate to go to him.  
This time when I knelt by his side he wasn't thrashing or reaching out for the woman in his dreams. This time he lay crying, the tears running down his cheeks.

"Chandler," I whispered, touching his face. The site in front of me was very disheartening.  
I nudged him over slightly and lay with him on the sofa. His arms went instantly around me and I brushed the tears from his face.

I laid in his arms and thought about the woman he had lost. Monica, he had said her name was. What was it about her he had loved so much that life had lost it's magic without her? Where were the friends he had shut out? Why weren't they fighting for him? As I laid there in his arms in the dark I heard a distant ringing. I looked around trying to determine where it was coming from. It sounded like a telephone but it couldn't be mine, the sound was too soft. Then I realized it was coming from Chandler. I nudged him a little and discovered it was his cell phone ringing.  
Not knowing what else to do, I answered it.  
"Hello?" I whispered, unsure of what to do now that I had.  
"Who is this?" a man demanded.  
"Who is this?" I shot back. I tried to ease out of Chandler's arms so I didn't wake him but he tightened his grip in his sleep and refused to release me.  
"I think I dialed the wrong number," the man answered.  
"Wait," I called out before he hung up. "Who are you looking for?"  
"A friend of mine. Who is this?" he demanded again.  
"My name's Joey. Your friend, is his name Chandler?" I asked.  
"Yeah, that's him. Is he there? Can I talk to him?" he asked.  
"He's sleeping right now and he hasn't gotten much sleep lately so I don't think it's best to wake him. Who are you?" I asked the stranger on the other end of phone.  
"Ross. Joey, right?"  
"Yes," I answered.  
"Is he all right, Joey?"  
I looked up at the man that held me and watched him sleep for a moment. These were the only moments he found peace and even his peace wasn't real. His dreams deceived him, convinced him he had the one thing he missed most. Then reality tore back into his life and destroyed even that false sense of peace.  
"No, he's not ok at all. He needs you, he needs all the people who love him. Why are you letting him push you away?"  
"It's hard to argue with a man you can't find. He hasn't been home or at work or carrying his phone. No one has seen or heard from him in weeks," Ross explained.  
"He's been with me. He's been getting smashed at my bar then passing out. He didn't have any ID to send him home so he was sleeping in the storeroom. Now he's staying at my place. He doesn't want to go home, Ross."  
"Jesus, Chandler," he mumbled into the phone sounding defeated.  
"Ross, did you know a Monica?" I asked, taking my chances.  
"She was my sister," he answered and I had to pull the phone away so he didn't hear my gasp of surprise. "Joey?" he called out.  
"I'm sorry."  
"Why did you ask about her?"  
"He carries a picture of her in his wallet. He misses her," I answered.  
"I know. He hasn't been the same since she died. None of us have really but he's taking it the hardest. I thought maybe after a while he would be all right. Guess I was wrong."  
"Did you know he was in love with her?"  
"Yeah," he answered. "He and I were really close, it was obvious. My sister and him had something special, all of us were very close actually. She loved him very much. They completed each other in a sense. We all kind of completed each other in a way really."  
I wasn't sure what he meant by that so I continued talking, "His love for her that's tearing him apart, he needs you," I pointed out once again.  
"Who are you? How is it you know so much about him? I've known him my whole adult life and I can't get him to open up to me the way he has with you."  
"I'm just a bartender with a soft heart. I don't know maybe because I represent an outside party. I've never known him before his pain. I don't expect him to be the person he was."  
"And you don't push me to forget her," Chandler added.  
I looked up at him and saw his blue eyes staring down at me.  
"I didn't mean to wake you," I told him, forgetting about the phone I held in my hand. "I tried to get up but you wouldn't let go of me."  
He nodded then looked at the phone. "Who is it?"  
"Ross," I answered.  
"Just tell him I'm okay. I don't want to talk to him right now. Tell him I'll call later," Chandler said, watching me.  
"Promise?" I asked him.  
"Promise."  
"Ross," I said, raising the phone back to my ear.  
"I heard him. Thank you, Joey. For whatever it is you are doing, thank you."  
And with that we ended the call. I turned off Chandler's phone and placed in on the floor next to us.  
Do you make it a habit of answering other people's private phone calls?" he asked me.  
"If I think the person needs sleep more than the conversation, yes. He's worried about you," I added.  
"Well, he shouldn't worry, none of them should. I'm fine, he said turning his face away.  
"How can you say that, Chandler? You spend your nights getting drunk, and then sleep in bars, but when you sleep you wake up screaming. How can you say you're fine?" I asked, gently turning his face back towards me. "You're not fine, Chandler."  
"So maybe I'm not. I'm alone though."  
"Only because you choose to be. You have people who care about you yet you push them away. You complain of your empty apartment and of being alone when you choose to be that way," I pointed out.  
"Even they can't fill my home. They have their own families, wives, husbands, children."  
"So you push them away to hold on to your pain?" I asked. "Were you friends with her husband?"

"Sort of, he's a nice guy. His name is Richard, and old family friend of hers. They were crazy about each other, but I don't want to talk about them anymore," he said, sitting up.  
"How did she die?" I asked quietly.  
"She had a brain tumor," he answered, his eyes clouding over.  
"So she died slowly?"  
"No, she just lived fast. One minute she was shopping for the baby she was never going to see and the next she was gone. She never even knew she was going to be a mother of twins."  
"I don't understand," I said, confused. His words didn't make any sense.  
"Monica knew she didn't have much time, but she wanted a baby so much. So she asked a friend to carry her baby for her. Rachel was barely into her pregnancy when Monica died. They didn't find out for four more months that the baby she wanted so much was twins."  
"Have you been to see them?"  
"A few times. They are so much like her though. Especially Star, she looks exactly like her mother."  
"But knowing they will never know her hurts, doesn't it?"  
"Why are you doing this to me?" he demanded, standing up.  
"Doing what?" I countered, standing as well.  
"Just stop! Just stop," he yelled.  
Before I had a chance to react he crumbled to the floor crying, sobs racking his body.  
"Oh, Chandler," I whispered, kneeling and pulling him into my arms.  
I held him like a child and let his tears fall. I wondered if he had ever cried at all when Monica died.


	4. Chapter 4

A/Ns: Since Joey does not know Chandler or the gang, I have written him to be more mature and much more intelligent than the idiot the writers turned him into in last few seasons of Friends. My reasoning for this change in his character is because he didn't have Chandler and the others to rely on all those years, he went through the process of coming out about his sexual orientation to his Catholic family and his friends, and because of other things that have happened in his life that you will find out in this chapter. Also, since he is gay in this story, I have written him to be more sensitive than the Joey on Friends, I'm not saying that all gay men are like this, it's just that most tend to be.

Even though it is an AU piece, I imagine that this would take place a few years after season 10. Imagine also that Chandler is/was much closer to Ross, Monica, Rachel, and Phoebe than he ever was in the show because he never became friends with Joey. I figured also that Chandler lived alone in his apartment next to Monica and Richard since he never met Joey and never dated Monica.

I also wrote this because I feel badly for the character of Monica. The writers really messed her up, just like they messed up all the other characters during the end of Friends. I loved the Monica from seasons 1 through 4 but she made such a drastic change though in her character that I hated her in the last 6 seasons. So I wrote this for the Monica that was lost.

I was going to make Phoebe carry Monica's child, but then I remembered in season 4, TOW Phoebe's Uterus, that Monica asked Rachel if she would ever be a surrogate for anyone and Rachel had said she would do it for Monica, even though she seemed she wouldn't. I figured in the situation presented in my story, Rachel would definitely had done if for her since she was going to die.

If you have any other questions please ask. Since I'm writing the story and know how everything fits together I might leave out certain details that might make things confusing.

---  
  
He wouldn't speak to me again once his tears dried. He simply folded his blankets, picked up his phone, and left. Frankie must have noticed I had a rough night when I came into work. It took two well placed hits to get the jukebox to come on. 

"You all right, Joey?" he asked, watching me.  
"Yeah, just didn't get much sleep, Frankie boy," I answered with a tired smile.  
"Would have thought things would be easier on you since Jack Daniels walked out on his own last night."  
"You would have thought," I agreed, before going to take care of our first customer.

I didn't give Chandler more than a brief glance when he walked in that night. We were unusually busy and my work needed most of my attentions even if my mind did wonder back to him. Truth was work needed all of my attention because my busy crowd had a few wild ones I didn't really trust. My instincts were right too when a fight broke out shortly after eleven. On any other night Frankie and I would have been able to easily handle the situation. I was tired and unprepared and distracted though. When I attempted to break up the fight I didn't put my self or my strength in the action and was thrown across the room instantly by two large, drunk, angry men. I slammed against the wall in an instant, my head spinning with the pain.

A moment later I heard a gun shot and jumped. I opened my eyes to see Frankie standing behind the bar with his shotgun in hand.

"The first shot was a blank. The next one's got real live bullets in it. Now get the hell out of my bar," he ordered.

For a single moment the troublemakers stood their ground. Then slowly they left the bar, mumbling profanities and tossing angry glares.Once they were gone Frankie was by my side in an instant. Right next to Chandler.

"Are you all right, Joey?" Frankie asked, helping me to sit up.  
"I'm fine," I answered, holding me head to stop the throbbing.  
"Joey, look at me," Chandler said, turning my face to him. I looked up into his crystal blue eyes and saw the compassion and worry in them.  
"I'm okay," I assured him.  
"His eyes look all right. I doubt he has a concussion," he said, ignoring me and speaking directly to Frankie.  
"I want you to go home. I'll call you a cab just to be on the safe side," Frankie said as I got up and stumbled a little.  
"I'm all right," I insisted.  
"Just to be safe, please," Frankie said and I saw the concern in his eyes.  
"He shouldn't be alone. I could be wrong about the concussion," Chandler added.  
"Well what do you suggest, Jack Daniels?" Frankie demanded, turning on him.  
"Frankie," I said, quietly to stop him.  
"He can stay at my place. I'll keep an eye on him," Chandler promised.  
"Yeah right, like he'll go home with some drunk who gets so smashed he can't get himself home," Frankie bit out.  
"Frankie, I'll be fine with Chandler," I said, stepping between them.  
"Chandler?" he asked confused.  
"Chandler," I repeated. "He's been staying with me. I trust him, Frankie. I'll be fine."  
"What do you even know about this guy?"

I winced at the sound of his voice rising and pressed a hand to my still throbbing head.

"Knock it off," Chandler ordered.  
"Stop, please. I'm going back to my apartment alone," I said. "And that's final."

With that I grabbed my backpack and headed for the door.

"Joey," Chandler called out as he followed me out the door.  
"Chandler, please. My head is killing me," I said, then stopped in my tracks when I realized the phrase I had used.

I turned and saw him standing there, his pale skin seemed to get paler.

"Chandler, I'm sorry," I said, taking a step toward him.  
"No," was all he said. Then he turned and took off running.

Well I was tired of him running, running from me and from everyone else in his life. So I took off after him. I chased after him for I don't know how long. He never slowed, he never stopped. He just kept running as if all the evil in the world was chasing after him.

"Chandler, stop running from me," I screamed. He stopped suddenly and spun on me.  
"Stop following me," he yelled back.  
"No," I shot back. "It's never going to stop if you just keep running from everyone. Your friends, me, hell you're even running from the damn bar where you've been trying to drown your life in. What the hell is wrong with you?"  
"I'm scared," he screamed, sitting down with a thump on the pavement.  
I moved toward him slowly and sat down next to him. Gently I reached out and took his hand in my own.  
"What scares you, Chandler?" I asked.  
"Everything, all of it. Every single day. I'm scared of every single day I wake up that I'll forget something about her. Her smile, her voice, her laughter. I'm scared of forgetting her but I'm scared to remember her too. I'm scared her memory will always hold me down, she'll never let me go. And I'm scared I'll stop loving her. I love her so much, Joey," he cried, leaning against me.

I held him in the middle of the night on that empty sidewalk and I let him cry once again. He had two years of tears pent up inside of him. It was time for him to let them go.  
I'm not sure how long he cried. All I know is by the time he stopped I was running my hand through his short brown hair.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked me quietly.  
"Doing what?"  
"Taking me in, chasing after me. Why do you care so much? You don't even know me." he questioned, looking up at me.  
"Because it's not right for one person to hurt so much," I answered, letting go of him.  
"There's more though. I see it in your eyes," he added.  
I looked away from him and down the empty street. He was right. There was more to my urge to help Chandler, but how had he known?  
"I've been where you are. I've been drowning in the pain, dying in the hurt. I've been on that barstool in those dark bars where no one knows me or gives a damn," I finally answered.  
"Who was he?" he asked, this time his hand reaching out for mine.  
"His name was Alex and he was killed almost five years ago, " I explained. "How?" "He was beaten to death by a group of men because he was gay."  
"Who was he to you?"  
"He was my fiancé. We were going to get married, adopt kids, and live happily ever after."  
"So that's your story," Chandler pointed out softly.  
"That's my story. I can't stand to see other people suffer because I know how painful it is, but I also know you can get past it," I said, looking back at him. "It hurts to remember Alex, but Chandler he was my gift and I will never forget him nor will I ever let him take over my life again."

The pain in my head was getting worse and for the first time since I had hit that wall in the bar, I started to wonder if maybe Frankie was right. Maybe I should have gone home and laid down.

"Are you all right?" Chandler asked, reaching out to touch my face.  
"Just a headache. Guess I hit that wall harder than I thought," I answered with a weak smile.  
"Come on. I'm taking you home," he said, standing and pulling me with him.  
"Whose home, Chandler?" I asked, looking him in the eye.  
"Mine," he answered, quietly. He put his arm around my back for added support as we walked up the street before finally catching a cab.

A little bit later the cab stopped and after paying, we walked into his building and up to his apartment. I couldn't see much of it in the dark but I could tell it wasn't some tiny studio like my place. He showed me to his guest room and gave me some pillows and blankets.

"How do you feel?" he asked quietly.  
"I'm fine," I answered, trying to find some detail in the inky blackness of the room.

He stared at me for a few minutes in silence. I couldn't see him but I felt his eyes on me and the hesitation in his body. I wondered what he was thinking, waiting for. Then it occurred to me.  
His sleep tortured him when he lay alone, It gave him peace when he held me in his arms. He didn't want to leave me for the nightmares that awaited him, but I'm sure he didn't want to ask to join me.

"Empty apartment, empty bed, empty heart," I whispered into the night. That was Chandler, that was his problem. He felt empty.  
"What did you say?" he asked.  
"Just thinking out loud," I answered.  
I watched him sitting there, silent and alone in his pain. Reaching out, I took his hand in mine.  
"Do you want to lie down, Chandler," I said, gently.  
"No, you need your rest. My room is just next door," he said, pulling away.  
"I won't get any rest if I have to go to you in an hour. You obviously don't want to leave, just lie down," I said, touching his face.

He sat unmoving for a moment before slowly lying down next to me. His body lay ridged next to mine, but as he relaxed his arms went around me, pulling me closer.

The soft sound of Chandler's voice woke me the next morning. Maybe it wasn't so much the words he spoke but the tone in which he spoke them that drew me from my sleep.

"He's kind of odd, Monica. I mean he carries me drunk into his apartment without knowing anything other than my first name. He answers my cell phone like he's done it a million times. He runs after me down empty streets when he should have just gone back to his apartment. He knows nothing about me and yet he opens himself up to me so completely," he whispered, his voice filled with wonderment and awe, confusion and understanding, longing and completion as he spoke to a long dead woman.

"I know you're awake," he said softly, his hand once again in my hair. For a straight man, he was awfully affectionate. Every straight man I know would never get into a bed with me, let alone curl up against me. He must be so desperate and alone that normal social behavior didn't matter to him anymore.  
"How did you know? I haven't moved," I asked. "The beating of your heart. I can feel it and it changed," He answered.  
"So am I your resident oddball you were telling Monica about?" I asked, softly.  
"Yes, although my friends would probably think I'm just as weird as you," he answered.  
"And why is that?"  
"I would always just start talking about the weirdest, most random things. I would always make stupid jokes, usually about my friends. They usually didn't get them, I guess that's why they thought I was weird," he stated, "I miss them, we used to hang out all the time at this coffeehouse or at Monica's apartment. They were the best times of my life." "What happened, did that stop when she died?" "Well there were five of us who always used to hang out together. Myself, Monica, Ross, Phoebe, and Rachel. Then Monica and Richard got married and things changed a little, but not much. But then as the years went on, Ross and Rachel got married and had a baby, and then Phoebe married a man named Mike, her wedding was so beautiful, I got to walk her down the aisle. That meant a lot to me. After that, we learned about Monica's illness, and well you know the rest. We just never went back to the way it was. I couldn't go back. Eventually everyone just moved out of the city after that, left me to myself," he explained.

"That's not why they moved Chandler, they moved to get on with their lives, start their families together. Ross was the one I talked to on the phone, Chandler, he misses you. They all miss you. Pick up the phone. Call them. Let them know they haven't lost you along with Monica," I pleaded, turning finally to look up into those blue eyes that haunted my own dreams, eyes so tortured.

"What do I say to them?" he asked me as if I had all his answers, as if I had all the answers to the world. "How about telling them you are still here, that you need help. Maybe you should tell them you don't know what to do without her. They lost her too, Chandler. They loved her and they saw her die. Just let them know you're all right please."

He lay silent for a few more moments, his hand still stroking my hair. Then finally he spoke.

"In a little while. I'll call them in a little while. I just don't want to move yet," he answered softly.  
"Tell me more about Chandler . Who is he?" I asked, changing the subject.  
"Chandler was a funny, sarcastic man, who was always uncomfortable in silence. He made fun of his friends all the time, but they were his life and he loved them, still does. They were the best thing that ever happened to him. He was basically just a normal guy who was content with his life," he answered. "Is he not that man anymore," I asked. "No, Chandler is no more, I don't think I'll ever get him back," "I don't think that's true, I just think he's hiding, he's afraid to return to himself, that's why you drink, Jack Daniels hides Chandler from himself," I said.  
"I don't drink to hide from myself," he argued.  
"Then why do you drink?" I shot back.  
"I don't know but it's not to hide from myself. There's nothing about me to hide from."  
"Except your pain, your anger, your loneliness, your fear. Should I go on?" I asked, pulling free of his arms and sitting up to look down at him. "Everything you do is to hide from the man you are, Chandler."  
"I still don't understand why you give a damn."  
"Neither do I, but I know when I close my eyes at night you haunt my dreams. I can't walk away from you knowing you're hurting like this. Now please go call your friends. Please."

He nodded then slowly left the bed. At the door he looked back at me where I still sat in the center of the bed.

"What are you going to do?" he asked me.  
"I don't know. Go home I suppose, shower, dress. Why?" I countered.  
"No reason," he answered, shaking his head sadly as he walked out.  
"No reason my ass," I mumbled crawling off the large bed. I followed him out of the room and downstairs.

Sliding to the floor, I leaned against the wall and did a horrible thing. I listened to his phone call. Thank God for speakerphone.

"Hello?" I heard a voice answer after a couple of rings.  
"Hey, Ross," Chandler greeted.  
"Chandler, man where the hell are you? Are you all right?" Ross demanded.  
"I'm fine. I'm at home and I'm alive."  
"What's going on, Chandler?" Ross asked, his voice quieter, more concerned then his original greeting. "Where have you been?"  
"Drowning," Chandler answered, softly and I could hear him sitting down.  
"What?"  
"I've just been gone, all right?" he snapped at the voice of a friend who had once been one of the best friends.  
"Chandler, I'm calling out of work and I'm coming over," Ross announced.  
"No," Chandler yelled. "No, Ross."  
"Why not? Chandler, I'm worried about you. We're all worried about you. Why won't you let me come over and make sure you're all right?" Ross asked.  
"Because I don't want any company right now."  
I stood up then and walked into the room with him.  
"Chandler, don't push him away," I whispered, hoping the man on the other end of the line couldn't hear me. No such luck.  
"Chandler, who is that?" Ross asked. "Who's there?"  
"Please, Chandler," I begged, touching his arm, hoping against hope that he would let his friends back into his life.  
"That was Joey, you already talked to him before" Chandler answered, looking at me. His face was filled with confusion and anguish. He didn't know what to do, he had been lost in his own pain for too long.  
"Who exactly is he, Chandler?" Ross continued.  
Chandler looked first at the phone then at me as if wondering himself what that answer was. Then quietly he spoke.  
"He's a friend.. he's a friend."  
"And so is he, so let him come," I whispered. "Please."  
"Whoever he is, Chandler, listen to him," Ross added.  
"All right. All right, I'll see you in a few," Chandler conceded.  
"Thank you, Joey," Ross said before hanging up.  
"It's time for me to go," I told Chandler when he turned off the phone.  
"How are you going to get home?" he asked, looking down at me with worried eyes.  
"A cab, same way I got here," I answered, smiling.  
"Let me take you home. After Ross leaves I'll drive you," he offered.  
"No. You need time alone with him to rebuild the bridges you've been trying so hard to burn. Take care, Jack Daniels," I said, quickly hugging him and then I left his home before he could say or do anything to stop me.

On the cab ride home I thought of him. Some how he was finding a place in my heart. I knew that deep down he was a good man, a man easily loved by the people in his life. He needed to find his peace and move on. I also knew that when he found his peace he would no longer need to drown his sorrow in a bottle on the stool at the end of my bar. He would no longer have a place in my life and I knew that I would miss him then. Possibly as much as his friends now missed him.


	5. Chapter 5

  
  
At eight o'clock that night I looked up at the door and waited for Chandler to walk into the bar. I waited and I hoped that he wouldn't. I hoped his friends had gotten through to him and he no longer needed that bottle of JD that waited for him there with me. As the clock continued to tick away the minutes I slowly began to smile. He hadn't shown up and the more time that passed the bigger my smile became. At ten o'clock Frankie finally noticed it and grinned at me. 

"What are you so happy about?" he asked, as I filled out an order.  
"We lost a customer," I answered, nodding to the empty stool at the end of the bar.  
"Jack Daniels?"  
"Yup," I said, smiling as I turned away.

In those few moments I had my back to the door everything changed. When I turned back around Chandler stood just inside the bar, his eyes trying to find me in the dim lightly.  
My heart was torn between sorrow and joy at seeing him. I wanted him to be at home with the ones that he loved, with the people who needed him the way that he needed them. I also wanted to see him though. I wanted to see those blue eyes and hear his voice.

"Guess we didn't lose one after all," Frankie said.

I didn't answer him or point myself out to Chandler. I simply made the drinks for the people who ordered them. In fact, I didn't go anywhere near him all night. I wasn't avoiding him. Just trying to figure out how to get him out of my bar without getting him out of my life. Just before the bar closed Frankie caught my attention one last time as the customers began to drift out.

"He bought that bottle when he came in. Take a look at it," he said, nodding his head toward the end of the bar where Chandler sat. I glanced toward Chandler and the bottle of Jack Daniels that sat next to him. It was only about one fourth of the way empty. He had barely drunk anything compared to previous nights.

"Think maybe you had more of an effect on him then we thought," Frankie said, walking away. As the last customer left the bar, Frankie left his place from behind the bar. I turned and smiled at him. "What's he doing here, Frankie?"  
"He said he's just waiting for you to get done."

I smiled and continued to clean up. I locked the door, closed the blinds, and set about cleaning up. I acted as if I was alone like I usually was pretending Chandler wasn't sitting on that stool.

"Are you angry with me?" Chandler finally asked twenty minutes later, breaking the silence.

I stopped mid circle as I wiped off a table and looked over at him. He sat still perched on his stool, the almost full bottle next to him, his eyes watching my every move, and his hands holding on to the edge of the bar, his knuckles white.

"I'm not angry with you. How can I be? You haven't done anything wrong," I answered, shaking my head sadly.  
"You won't talk to me. You won't even look at me. I had to have done something," he argued.  
"Chandler, let go of the bar. You're knuckles are white and it's scaring me," I said, watching his fingers dig into the wood. He looked down and seemed surprised by the sight of his own hands. Quickly he let go and moved away. "I'm sorry," he said.  
"For what?" I asked quietly.  
"For scaring you. For scaring the guys, the kids, myself, my family. For not knowing how to live the rest of my life without her smile and her laughter. For not knowing how to end a day outside of a bar without her magic and her energy. For not knowing how to sleep through a night without holding you because my dreams are filled with nightmares of being without her," he answered, his eyes brimming with unshed tears as he lost himself once again in the pain.

I tossed down the rag in my hand and grabbed my bag from behind the bar. I would finish the clean up tomorrow. Right now Chandler needed me more than the empty shelves and dirty bar top did.

"Come on," I said, taking his shaky, cold hand in my own.  
"Where are we going?" he asked.  
"Home. We are going home and then I'm going to call you're friends and you are going to talk to them," I answered, locking the door behind us. I looked at him. "It's time to let go, Chandler."  
"I don't want to lose her, Joey."  
"I don't want you too, either. I just want you to let go of the pain and the fear and there's only one way to do it."  
"How?" he asked.  
"By letting the ones who still love her back in. Let them show you how to hold on and let go."  
"Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom."  
"Shakespeare? Why quote that sonnet?" I asked when he finished.  
"Seemed fitting," was all he said as he took my hand in his again.

I watched him out of the corner of my eye on the cab ride home. He stared out the window at the darkened city. He still held my hand and I gave it a gentle squeeze to get his attention. He turned his eyes toward me.

"I met Alex when I was nineteen. I had realized I was gay long before that, but I hadn't told anyone yet. And one day he swept me off my feet before I ever told him my name. He made that transition in my life so much easier, I was in college then too. We shared a sign language class together. I didn't mean to take it, there was an error on my roster, I wanted mime for my acting career, heh, but I couldn't change it. It's a good thing I couldn't, I would have never met him. By our second date I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life loving him. He was magic and he made me believe in myself. He was like my star in the night. Like Monica was for you," I added.

"What's it like to sleep at night without the nightmares of losing him?" Chandler asked softly.

"He died just before my twenty-first birthday. For nearly a year the nightmares haunted me. I never closed my eyes they were so horrible. It took time. It took a lot of time before I could sleep and not see his lifeless body. I finally got to a point where my sleep was filled with joyous memories and hopeful dreams. Alex was always going to love me like I was always going to love him. I would never see his smile again but I knew I was someone who would always make him smile," I said, the corners of my own mouth lifting in a happy memory.

"She understood me like no one else ever has. She didn't look at me as if trying to define me. She looked at me as if I needed no definition. She never expected, she just accepted. I've only known one other person like that," Chandler confessed.  
"Who?" I asked quietly.  
"You."

The cab stopped outside his house and we climbed out. It was almost three o'clock in the morning by then.

"Who do you want me to call first?" I asked as he unlocked the door.  
"What do you mean?" he questioned, looking at me with troubled eyes.  
"The guys. Who do you want me to call over first?" "None of them, Joey. It's three in the morning. They are at home asleep in their wife's or husband's arms down the hall from their children. They don't need to have you call and drag them from their homes for me," Chandler argued as we walked into his house. "Maybe they don't need to be dragged from them, but they would willingly come to you if you needed them. Chandler, you need them. They love you and they want to help. Now who first?" I demanded, putting my foot down on the subject. "Ross. Call Ross and Rachel," he answered quietly, sinking into his sofa.

Half an hour later I hung up the phone after talking to Phoebe. I walked back into the living room where Chandler sat curled on his sofa. His knees pulled to his chin I watched him staring off into the dark. 

"Do not go gentle into that good night/Old age should burn and rave at the close of day," I quoted.  
"Rage, rage against the dying of the light," he finished looking up at me.

"You know Dylan Thomas?" I asked, kneeling next to him.

"Shakespeare, Thomas, new and old. I live in books. They hold dreams and answers. Things I could have never imagined without them. I never read much until she died, I never needed answers before then." he explained.

"Answers?" I questioned.

"A few," he said, looking away.

"But not the ones you need to know, not the ones that would ease the pain," I supplied.

" I know you mean well, Joey, but nothing's going to ease this. I love her too much," he said, standing up.

"I'm not trying to get you to stop loving her. I'm trying to get you to move on with you're life while you love her!" I screamed, standing up as well. He looked at me, his eyes round with surprise.

"You don't yell," he said quietly.

"How do you know what I do, Chandler? Since the first night you passed out in front of the Lonely Star it's all been about you. Your pain, your fear, your nightmares. And that's fine. You need the attention and the support and the love that will get you past this, but don't stand there and tell me what I do and don't do when you have no idea who I am," I yelled at him.

"I know you're a bartender and an actor, I know you were in love, I know… I know… I know," but he couldn't finish, he couldn't go on.

"You don't know," I corrected. "And I don't need you to know. But you need me to know it hurts and you're scared. And you need me to know you need someone to help you. That someone is me and the three people on their way over here."

"How do you know what I need?" he asked.

"Because, Chandler, you're going to die if you don't let go and I'm not going to let that happen," I answered.

"Why do you care so much?"

"Because I can't stand to see a someone so tortured, because I care about you, Chandler," I admitted. Chandler sat back down on the sofa and I curled up at his feet.

"What kind of name is Chandler?" I asked the night.

"It means candle maker," he answered with a bitter laugh.

"And you don't think it fits?"

"Oh it fits, it clearly explains how insignificant and pathetic my life has been, but it's not near as good as Jack Daniels."

"Do you think that your life is insignificant and pathetic because you couldn't help Monica?" I supplied, saying what I knew he was thinking.

"I let her die, Joey. I just accepted it," he said, his voice sad and quiet.

"Who made you God, Chandler?" I asked, drifting into a sleep I hadn't realized I was fighting.

"Is that him?"  
"He's the one that did this?"  
"Why is curled up at his feet?"

The whispered voices drew me from my sleep. I listened with my eyes closed as I tried to place myself. I was on the floor curled up against Chandler's legs, his hand on my shoulder. Slowly I opened my eyes and focused on the three people in the doorway. I attempted to ease away from Chandler but he tightened his grip on me. I reached up and took his hand in mine and gently eased away. He held my hand for dear life it felt like and I squeezed gently to reassure him in sleep. His grip lessened just slightly.

Then I smiled up at the three strangers in the doorway who stood watching us. "You must be Chandler's friends," I said, my eyes moving from one face to the next. 

"Joey?" the man asked tentatively.  
"Ross?" I guessed. He smiled suddenly and nodded before quickly introducing the other two.  
"Is he all right?" Phoebe asked.  
"For the moment." I answered. I eased my hand from Chandler's and ushered his friends into the kitchen. "So what do we do?" Rachel asked, looking at me.  
"Why are you asking me?" I questioned in return.  
"Well you called us. We figured you knew what we should do to help him," Phoebe explained.  
"We assumed you could help us get him back," Ross added.  
"I can help him let go if he lets me. I can't get him back for you though. I don't know who he was before Monica died. I have to tell you though. The chances of you ever getting that man completely back are slim to none. He'll heal, but he'll always be healing. Like the three of you. You are moving on but you will never be the people, the people you were before this woman," I explained. In silence, they exchanged looks I couldn't begin to define. Then slowly, they turned their attention back to me. "We will never be who we were before her, Joey, but not because we lost her," Ross said.  
"Because we still have her," Rachel finished.  
"Yeah, Monica didn't die young," Phoebe added, a slow smile starting at her mouth and spreading to her eyes.  
"She'll live forever," Ross finished, putting his arm around Rachel.

I watched in stunned silence as these three people whose friend was suffering so much had discovered a precious gift in life in loving the same woman. What made them so different then the man who slept in the other room?

"He's regretting something. That's where his pain and his fear are coming from," I told them.  
"What though?" Rachel asked.  
"He was in love with her," Ross answered. The collective gasps signified that Phoebe and Rachel had never suspected.

Chandler must have loved her a great deal to keep hidden emotions that could have tested their friendship.

"But she was Richard's wife," Rachel argued.  
"Which is why none of us ever knew," Phoebe explained, suddenly understanding.  
"She loved him so much, and you all loved him too. I didn't want to lose you guys too."

I turned to see Chandler's sleepy eyes watching us from the doorway. I watched and waited, wondering what his reaction would be to us talking about him.

"Chandler, man," Ross stared, but Chandler held his hand up to silence him.

"I don't know what the three of you want from me but I don't think I'm capable of giving it anymore," Chandler said.  
"And I think you are, but you have to let go of some things and grab hold of some others," I argued.  
"We miss you, Chandler. Please just try," Phoebe pleaded. He stood silent, looking at the faces of the people who loved him.

Slowly, he sank to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest. "She's in my dreams," he began. "Alive and beautiful and reaching out to me. The same way she always did. But when I try to touch her she turns away. She's walking so slowly, never looking back. I'm running as hard as I can, screaming for her, begging her not to leave me. Most nights I wake up still screaming for her. Other nights the dream just fades out and I feel her in my arms," he confessed, tears rolling down his face.  
"What changes?" Rachel asked.  
"He holds on to me," I answered, kneeling beside the man who was consuming my life.  
"You can't catch her because you never told her you loved her," Ross spoke up. I looked up at the man and waited. "You can't catch her but you can't let her go because you never told her you were in love with her. You're regretting that and that's why you can't move on," he explained.

I watched in quiet understanding as Ross knelt beside his life long friend.

"How could I tell her?" Chandler said, crying still. "She was madly in love with Richard. I didn't want you all to hate me."

"We would never do that. We loved her, Chandler, but we love you just as much. All of us," Ross corrected. "She may have loved Richard but we were her magic, her strength. We were what kept her living. We are what keep her alive. For ourselves, for Monica, for Star and Gabriel."

"I wanted her to love me though!" Chandler screamed.

"She did," Ross answered.

"She loved me, but I wanted her to be in love with me. I wanted her to reach for me in the end!" Chandler continued to yell.

"You know what I regret, Chandler, I regret not keeping my sister's last request of me." Surprised by his friend's chosen words, Chandler sat in silence staring at him.

"What was it?" I asked, hoping his next words would heal some of Chandler's pain.

"The last thing Monica ever asked me to do was take care of you. She knew you were going to have a hard time dealing with her death. She was worried about you. I let her down though. All she asked was for me to take care of you and I let her down, I lied to her when I promised her I would," Ross confessed.

"How could she have known I would hurt this much?" Chandler asked softly.

"Because she knew you loved her that much, Chandler. You never said the words, but Monica knew. She knew."

"She knows," I corrected, taking Chandler's hand in mine. "She knows and she always will. She's not gone, Chandler. Her body is but her love is forever."

"I want her body back though," he said, his tears coming once again. "I miss her smile and her laughter and her eyes."

"Star has Monica's eyes and Gabriel has her smile," Rachel spoke up. Chandler stared in silence as his friend's words sunk in.

"Chandler, tomorrow is Mike's birthday. I'm throwing him a party. Everyone is going go be there. Please come," Phoebe begged.

"We'll see," Chandler quietly answered.

"Please."

"I'll try, Pheebs, I'll try. That's all I can promise."

"That's all I'm asking," Phoebe said, a smile touching her lips.

"Can you guys give me some time alone?" Chandler asked, his beautiful blue eyes swollen and red.

"I'll walk out with you," I said, starting to stand. Chandler's grip on my hand tightened.

"Stay please," he whispered.

"All right, but let me walk them to the door. I'll be right back," I promised. He nodded and slowly released my hand. I walked his three friends to the door. "Who are you?" Rachel asked, looking up at me with amazement in her eyes.

"I'm just a bartender in a bar he walked into, Rachel." I smiled gently at her. "with the scars of a broken heart."

"Whatever you're doing man, please keep it up, we really appreciate it. This is the most he's ever spoken to us about Monica since she died," Ross said shaking my hand.

"Thank you Joey, you're welcome to come tomorrow too. Anyone who would go through all this and help Chandler is a friend of ours as well," said Phoebe, "I hope you can help him, since he won't let us help him."

"I hope so. I can't walk away from him till I know he's all right. He won't let me," I answered.

I closed the door behind them and made my way back to the kitchen. Chandler still sat curled on the floor.

"Chandler, it's almost six o'clock. Let's get you to bed before I go home," I said, holding my hand out to him. With my help, he rose to his feet and looked into my eyes.

"Don't leave me, Joey. I don't know what to do when you aren't here. There's a whole other room you can have rent free if you just promise not to leave me," he begged.

I gently touched his face and smiled softly at his offer.

"Part of you healing, Chandler, is learning to lived without a crutch. That includes me and the Jack Daniels. I will always be your friend and I will always be here when you need me. I have a home and a life though, and I can't just ignore it till you don't need me anymore," I answered him.

"What about my nightmares? I can't sleep without you, Joey," he argued.

"No, Chandler. You can't sleep without Monica. My body is just a physical replacement in your dreams." In silence, I took his hand and walked him to his bed. I laid him down and tucked him in as if he were a little child. "When she appears tonight, Chandler, ask her if she knows. Her answer will ease your dreams," I promised. I kissed his forehead and stood to leave. At the door he stopped me.

"Joey," he called out. I turned to him. "Do you believe in second chances in life?" he asked.

"I believe you get all the chances you need in life until you get it right. You're getting another chance, Chandler. Will you get it right this time?"

And with those words I left his room and his house.


	6. Chapter 6

  
  
"Go with me to Mike's party tomorrow?" 

The voice on the other end of my phone belonged to Chandler. He sounded scared and lonely as he invited, or maybe I should say begged me to go with him.

"How did you sleep, Chandler?" I asked, ignoring his question for moment as I glanced at the clock. It was one o'clock in the afternoon.

"I woke you up, didn't I?" he asked, now ignoring my question.

"How did you sleep, Chandler?" I repeated.

"She smiled at me when I asked. Then she was gone. No walking away, no running after her. It just ended," he admitted.

"Because she knew and now you know."

"So will you come with me tomorrow?" 

'I don't know if I can, Chandler. I have plans for the better part of the day," I admitted. 

"What?" he asked. I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was surprised. My life had been completely his for so long. He must have assumed I didn't have much of a social life. 

"I'm going to see a friend," I answered. 

"Who?" he pressed. 

"His name is Kane and I can't cancel," I explained. 

"Want some company?" he offered softly. 

"Why would you want to go with me?" I countered, hoping he would give me the answer I wanted to hear. 

His answer was silence at first. Then quietly," I don't want to be alone anymore." 

My smiled was slow but as it spread across my face I felt something in my heart jump with joy. He was taking a step. 

"What time is the party?" I asked. 

"Five o'clock," he said. 

"Would you mind be late?" 

"Not really," he answered and I was positive I heard him give a little laugh. 

"My place ten tomorrow morning, got it?" I asked, grinning though he couldn't see it. 

"Got it." 

"Chandler?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Will you be at the Lonely Star tonight?" I asked softly. 

"I don't know, Joey. If I do I can't promise it won't be to nurse a bottle. I don't know if I can stand the silence all night," he admitted. 

"I understand," I answered with just a little more hope.

With a well-placed hit I set the jukebox going as I walked into the bar later that night. 

" How's it going, Joe?" Frankie greeted.  
"Its going, Frankie. How are the girls today?" I asked, putting my bag behind the bar.  
"Good. Jody has her first date next weekend," he said, his face contorted in mock pain.  
"Oh your baby is growing up on you, Frankie?" I teased.

At eight o'clock that night I looked up at the door to see Chandler standing there. He nodded slightly before heading to his stool at the end of the bar. With baited breath, I watched him give Frankie his order. I think my sight of relief was audible above the blaring of the music as Frankie handed him a cup of coffee. When I finally made my way to his side I took a seat on the stool next to him. 

"Okay?" I asked over the blaring music.  
"Okay," he answered, not looking at me as he stared into his coffee cup. 

I watched his face. He was struggling so hard with his demons. The demons of loving and losing a woman that was never his. It was taking all his will power and strength not to order a drink. 

"All the chances it takes, Chandler," was all I said, touching his knee as I stood. 

He turned just enough so his eyes caught mine and very slowly the corners of his mouth began to lift just slightly.

"Thank you," he said, his voice still somehow soft over all the noise. 

I smiled at him and returned to working. I watched him throughout the night, my heart swelling just a little more with hope every time Frankie poured him another cup of coffee.  
At two o'clock I walked Frankie to the door. 

"Night, Frankie," I said.  
"Night, Joey. Have a good day off tomorrow," he answered, smiling at me. He lifted his eyes over my head to look back at the bar. "JD," was all he said, giving Chandler a brief nod. 

I closed the door and locked it behind him. Turning the open sign to closed, I began my nightly ritual. Wiping down the tables, I looked up to see Chandler across the bar scrubbing down tables. 

"When did you realize you were gay?" he asked suddenly. 

"In high school." I said taken aback by his sudden question, but then continued. "It took a while for me to realize it. I just went along with everyone else, you know, I thought I'd grow up, meet a girl and marry her and have kids. That's what everyone expected, no one ever said you'd have to discover your sexual orientation and then deal with everything that brings. Anyway, I realized I was gay when I went to the football games with my friends because they wanted to check out the cheerleaders. Instead, I found myself more interested in the players, I never said anything to them though. I was never really sure what that meant, but I remember when I first kissed another guy, I knew then that I was gay and there was nothing I could do about it." I explained, smiling at the memory. 

"The guys and everyone I know all thought I was gay when they first met me," he admitted, moving to another table. 

"Really? Did they say exactly why they thought that?" 

"Not really, only that I had a certain quality? But the gay men at my work never thought I was gay, I'm guessing you didn't think that either." he asked. I grinned at him for a moment before answering. 

"No, I didn't get that vibe from you, mainly because all I really know about you is that you love Monica. You are much more comfortable than most straight men though when I touch you." I answered. 

"Under normal circumstances I wouldn't be, but I don't know. There's something about you," he said, quietly as he returned to wiping. 

"So how do you get people to stop thinking you're gay?" I asked, returning to the previous topic. 

"I yell at them, among other things," he laughed, "There's nothing I can really do. I mean I guess I can see why a little, I used to get pedicures, I loved to watch E! and the Thanksgiving parade instead of the football game, I have two soundtracks of the musical Annie. I don't know, I was always just a sensitive guy. I have found some men to be attractive though, I kissed one once in Atlantic City." 

I laughed and threw my cloth in the sink as I walked behind the bar. "I'm gay and I don't do or have any of those things you just mentioned. I mean, yes many gay men do all those other things, but just because a man gets a pedicure doesn't make him gay. Straight men just need to define the behavior of gay men so that they aren't mistaken for one, you just got caught in the game of stereotyping, my friend. I love sports, I prefer beer over any other drink, the only thing I have ever done to my nails is bite them, and I know absolutely nothing about fashion," I said as I continued to clean. 

"Yeah, I know. I guess it also has to do with my father to. He ran out on me and my mom because he was gay. He didn't fully realize it I guess until late in his life. It really hurt me, made me kind of prejudice in my childhood actually. I realized later though that hardly any gay people abandon their family to start their own gay burlesque show in Vegas. My grandfather was gay too, I still wonder how I was ever born," he admitted, giving me the cloths.

"Well that surely sounds like a nice, normal family," I stated sarcastically 

He laughed, "Not at all, not at all. I didn't speak with my father for years, and I resented both my parents my entire life. I did finally manage to start some kind of relationship with them a few years ago. I stopped talking to them again though when Monica died," he said quietly.

"Have you thought about seeing them again? Maybe they can help?" I suggested. 

"My parents don't know the first thing about love and hurt and pain, they both have a different man each month" he answered, turning away. 

"Chandler," I said, reaching across the bar to touch his hand. "Chandler I'm sure they love you and would do anything to help you, you just need to ask for help" I explained. 

"I don't know how to anymore," he said, looking at me. 

Looking at him, I sighed sadly and changed the subject. "Did you ever love anyone else besides Monica? Any serious relationships?" I asked this cautiously, I didn't know if I was stepping over some boundaries, or if it would be too painful for him to think about it.

"I never had a long-term serious relationship actually. I only had two that were sort of serious, but they went nowhere. I was never good at the dating thing, I don't know what it is about me, I guess my personality and my looks. That about covers everything," he said with a little laugh.

"I doubt it's your personality or your looks," I said to him as I straightened out some glasses behind the bar.

"Are you saying I'm attractive?" he asked, sitting at a chair at one of the tables. 

"Do you need me to answer that question, or is it already set in your mind what you think about yourself?" I countered, looking at him. 

"It's different to hear it from someone who has seen inside of you to your fear and your pain and who has given you hope that maybe the rest of your life won't be filled with darkness," he answered, quietly. 

"You're still asking for an answer that is worthless if you don't believe it yourself. I could tell you you're gorgeous and if you don't believe it then it was a waste of my breath. I do though. You're one of the handsomest men I've ever met, Chandler. The question is do you believe it?" I asked, lifting his chin so his blue eyes met my brown. 

"To yes would make me sound conceited though and no would make me sound pathetic and insecure, wouldn't it?" he countered. 

"Yeah," I answered, smiling. "Which is exactly the answer I was hoping for. Come on, Bing. You and I have a busy day tomorrow and we need our sleep," I said, standing. 

I reached out to take his hand but he jerked away as if afraid of me. I watched him in silence, his eyes filled with pain, his face contorted in anguish. Our light-hearted banter disappeared in a matter of seconds to be replaced with his broken heart once again. What had triggered it so quickly? 

"Monica use to call me her Bing," he whispered, stepping back from me. 

So that was it. I had given him a reminder of his pain, of the woman who had changed his life in love and death. He could remember her and hurt or he could forget and move forward. He hadn't yet learned to balance them both. He still didn't understand that he could remember her and still live. Slowly, I took a few steps toward him still we stood face to face again. 

"When I called you Bing what was your first thought? Your very first thought, Chandler," I asked. 

"I thought about her smile whenever she called me that," he answered. I could see the barest hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth as he thought of her. 

"Then what?" I continued. 

"Then I remembered I was never going to see that smile again," he said, looking away. 

"But you have that memory. Those memories of a woman who smiled at you and made you feel wonderful. You're going to let your pain over-shadow those beautiful memories?" I asked. 

He stood silently staring into the darkness around us for a few moments. He was once again fighting the demons that haunted him. It was a struggle I still remembered all too well from losing Alex. 

"Alex use to call me Gelato," I offered, grinning at the thought. "Mainly because I'm Italian, but when we first started dating I was in this play, and next to the theatre was this little Italian Bistro where I'd stop to get something to eat every night after the show. Well, in my younger days I was very clumsy, I never managed to get through a meal without spilling something on me, especially dessert. So after I stained half the shirts I owned with Gelato, he started calling me that. He said it was also because I was sweet, but I don't know if he just made that up afterwards," I admitted. 

He was right," Chandler added quietly. 

"He was in love," I corrected. "That's love. It's finding all those funny little things and making them into something that you always remember with a smile."

"He was right though, you are a very sweet person." 

"And yet that memory only makes me love him all the more," I answered. 

"Are you still in love with him?" he asked, quietly. 

"I'll always be in love with him, Chandler. He'll always be my first real love, the man who woke my heart up. But his greatest gift to me was teaching me what it was to love so much so that when I lost him I could love like that again. I'll always love him but I will love someone else just as much and just as strongly again," I answered. 

"Do you think I'll be able to love like that again?" 

"If you want to your heart will let you do anything. If gives you all the chances you need till you get it right, Chandler. Till you love like you never thought you could possibly love."

_A/N: Monica never really had a nickname for Chandler so I made one up, that's the beauty of fiction._


	7. Chapter 7

  
  
At ten o'clock the next morning the soft knocking on my door alerted me to the arrival of Chandler. 

"Hi."  
"Hey, ready to go?" I asked, reaching for my backpack.  
"Yup," he answered, waiting as I locked the door. "Where are we going?"  
"You'll see," I answered, cryptically.  
"How long have you know this Kane guy?" he continued.  
"Almost four years. He's like a little brother to me," I said as we walked.  
"We aren't taking a cab?" he asked, glancing at the passing cars.  
"You that lazy, Chan?" I teased.  
"No," he laughed, moving closer to me. "So what did you mean by little brother?"  
"I mean smaller and younger than me."  
"How small and how young?" he pressed.  
"He's seven and about two and a half feet shorter than me," I laughed, nudging his with my shoulder. "No need to be jealous," I joked.  
"I'm not jealous," he argued. "Just curious."  
"Sure you are. I saw that look in your eyes. You were worried you were going to have to compete for attention. Well you are going to, I love him," I confessed smiling as we turned a corner.  
"Stealing all the hearts, Joey?" he teased.  
"Always, Jack Daniels. Always," I answered, smiling as we started up some steps to a small brick building.  
"Where are we?"  
"It's a school for the deaf," I answered, pushing open the door.  
"A what?" he asked, following me in.  
"Sydney," I called out, ignoring him for a moment. "A school for the deaf," I repeated, looking at him.  
"I'm confused."  
"Alex was deaf, Chandler. We met in sign language class. He was the teacher's assistant. Kane is deaf as well. I've been coming here on my days off for the last four years ever since Alex died. I spend time with the kids but mostly with Kane," I explained just as a beautiful blonde walked into the room.  
"Hello, Joey," she greeted me. I smiled and hugged her quickly.  
"Sydney Ryan, this is my friend Chandler Bing. Chandler, Sydney runs the school," I said, introducing the two.  
"Have you known Joey long?" Sydney asked, shaking his hand.  
"We're getting there," he answered, glancing at me.  
"Do you sign?"  
"Not a bit. This whole thing has come as a surprise to me," he said, shrugging slightly with an innocent look on his face.  
"Joey?" she asked, looking at me with questioning eyes.  
"I thought Chandler needed a glimpse at what it's like to really be missing something," I answered. "Where's Kane?"  
"In the library," she said, smiling as I pulled Chandler past her and down the hall.  
"Joey, what are we doing here?" Chandler asked me.  
"You've lost something precious and you think life will never be anything but dark now. I want you to see what it's like to never have something so precious and still see the light," I answered, walking into the library.  
The little redhead sitting at the table was bent over a book of pictures as he slowly turned page after page. Carefully, I approached him. When he looked up his face lit up with a smile.  
"Joey," he cried out, his words muffled and strange to most people's ears. To mine, it was more beautiful then music.  
"Hello, Red," I signed and spoke at the same time.  
"Look. I got a new book yesterday," he said, his words coming just as quickly as he moved his hands.  
"Kane, wait. I want you to meet a friend of mine. Kane, this is Chandler. He needs a couple of friends like us. Chandler, this is Kane," I said, pulling the man with me forward and introducing the two with my words as well as my hands.  
"What do I do? I can't sign," Chandler said, his voice panicked as he spoke to me. I looked into his blue eyes to see the fear and concern for his image and for the boy in front of him. "I don't know what to do."  
"I can read lips too," Kane interrupted. "You don't have to sign," he explained. "Just look at me when you talk."  
"Um, alright," Chandler stuttered.  
"Are you Joey's boyfriend?" Kane asked, staring up at Chandler with big green eyes filled with questions and innocence.  
"No, just a friend," Chandler answered, smiling at the little boy.  
"He's mine too," Kane answered, as he took my hand and Chandler's and pulled us toward the table to look at the book.  
Chandler looked over Kane's head at me and grinned.

"Sweet dreams, Red," I said, signing the words as I tucked Kane into bed that night. Sitting on the edge of the bed on one side, Chandler sat on the other watching us.  
"Thank you, Joey," the little boy whispered, his voice so different than what I heard on a daily basis.  
"For what, Kane?" I asked, smoothing his hair back.  
"For being my friend," he said, turning sleepy eyes toward Chandler. "Thanks, Chandler."  
"For what, kiddo?" Chandler asked, holding the boy's hand.  
"For coming and for being my new friend." And with those softly spoken words Kane drifted off into a world of beautiful dreams.  
Quietly, Chandler and I made our way out of the room. I bid Sydney a quick good-bye as we slipped out of the school.  
Outside on the street, Chandler took my hand and hailed a cab.  
"Chandler, we don't need this. I live right around the corner," I argued, shaking my head.  
"I need to go somewhere and the walk is too far. Please, Joey," he begged and I saw the anguish once again in his blue eyes.  
I could always see his heart in his eyes. 

As we climbed into the cab he held my hand tightly and it scared me.  
"Chandler, are you all right?" I asked quietly.  
"I don't know. I just don't know anymore, Joey. One minute I think my life with be filled with this emptiness, the pain forever. The next I think maybe, just maybe I'll be okay again. Then suddenly the pain takes over again and I feel like I'm drowning in it," he answered. He looked at me suddenly with questioning eyes. "Why did you take me there? Why did you let me meet Kane?"  
"He's had a life filled with silence. He hears with the motion of hands, the vibrations of sound. He'll never hear someone laugh, the sound of his mother's voice, a song, a cry, a story, or a movie. He'll never hear the things we take for granted so much. He knows he never will, yet he's found this ability, this light in his own darkness that lets him live life in a way most people never understand or dream of. He's never heard a single sound, Chandler, but his life is filled with so much beautiful music, so many wonderful sounds that he hears his way. You've loved a woman and lost her. I wanted you to see that your life will always be filled with her. You just have to learn to hear her your way," I said, squeezing his hand gently.  
He turned away from me and stared at the window as we rode through the blackened city. I could feel the emotions swirling through him, his struggle, his questions, his fight to find his life again, to remember her love.  
I turned to look out the window and tried to place where we were and where we were going. One turn led to another and before long I had figured out just where we were pulling up finally.  
Chandler opened his door and gently pulled me out. Holding tightly to my hand as if afraid I would disappear or that he would, we made our way through the darkened cemetery.  
I know walking through a cemetery at night sounds terrifying and freaky to most people but I found a sense of peace in walking through it will Chandler. It wasn't a place filled with terror of the undead reaching out and grabbing you. It was a place of peace, of resting. It didn't scare me. Made me sad sometimes, but never scared me.  
We stopped in front of small stone and Chandler pulled me with him as he knelt in the grass.  
"Her name was Monica Geller when I met her. Ross was my college roommate, that's how I met her. Once we graduated, I ended up getting an apartment across the hall from hers. I had the best time with her those first few years, I was always afraid to tell her how I felt though. I didn't want to ruin our friendship, but before I worked up enough courage to tell her, she ended up with Richard. I knew after only a few weeks of their relationship, I had lost my chance."  
I peered at the words engraved in the moonlight as I knelt beside my brokenhearted friend.  
_So now I come to you  
With open arms  
Nothing to hide  
Believe what I say  
So here I am  
With open arms  
Hoping you'll see  
What your love means to me  
Open arms _  
"I know those words. That's that song from Journey, isn't it?" I asked quietly.  
"Yeah, it was their song. It defined them. We all knew as soon as she did. I'll never forget that day. She never hid her illness, never denied she was dying. She always said she wasn't dying. She was just going to die sooner than she had originally planned. She lived till the very end and she loved so much. Through it all I wondered why she didn't love me like she loved Richard. Why did I love her so much when she was so in love with him?" he asked.  
I wondered if he was speaking to a higher power or me or was he simply asking Monica for the answer his heart craved.  
"I held her one night when Richard let her down. They were fighting over having a baby, the baby she wanted so much. I wanted more than anything to give her that baby, to promise her no matter what she would have a child before her time ended. I held her that night and I promised her no matter what I would always be there, I would always love her. He kept hurting her and yet she kept loving him. Why? Why did she always go back to him when I was the one who could have given her the world?" he begged and I heard the tears in his voice. I looked up at him and saw them streaming down his face as he released his pain and anger finally.  
"Why, Monica? Why did you always go back to him when I was the one who always held your hand, who always stood by you?" he cried, lying down on the grass next to Monica's grave.  
I leaned over him and ran my hand through his hair as he cried. It was time.  
His tears continued, his sobs wracking his body as he shook on the cool ground, and I held him as he began to finally find his release.  
"You broke my heart, Monica. Why, if you loved me so much, would you do that to me?" he sobbed.  
I held him in my arms as he came to terms with the emotions that haunted the demons within him. They were what caused the nightmares, what broke his heart. He didn't mourn her loss. He had known she was going to die. Her death he could accept. What he mourned was the loss of her heart; the love he felt should have been his. He cried for the betrayal, for the confusion that was left behind in losing her.  
"Why, Joey?" he whispered finally. "Why did she do that to me?" he asked, turning his red, tear-filled eyes up to me.  
My heart twisted and broke as the pain in those eyes. So much pain, so much confusion. It just wasn't right.  
"Because no matter how much he hurt her, how much they hurt each other they were meant to be, Chandler. He was her soul mate, the other half of her heart. They belonged together," I answered, running a soothing hand through his hair as I held him as if he were a child.  
"Why though? Why did they belong together when he hurt her so much?" he pressed, his eyes still filled with the urge to understand why his pain wasn't as important as what Richard and Monica had gone through.  
"Because no matter how often he hurt her or her him they completed each other. They just needed a few chances to figure it out. Remember, we get all the chances we need till we get it right. They needed a lot, but they finally got it right. Didn't they? When Monica died did they love each other completely? Did they love each other and fulfill all their dreams?"  
"Yes," he whispered, turning his eyes away in defeat.  
"You think you lost her though. Now you think because you understand you've really lost her?" I asked quietly. I turned his face gently so he looked up at me again. "Oh, Chandler," I whispered upon seeing his eyes.  
"She was never here for me to love if she was always his," he whispered.  
"No, Chandler. She was here for you to love to. She was yours as well as his just in a different way. Don't you understand? You were meant to love her as much as she loved you. It's the circle of life, to love and be loved by each person in your life. She was here and she'll always be here. Loving you and being loved by you. She wasn't your soul mate, your other half, Chandler, but someone is. Monica will be here with you always to love you when you fall in love with the right person and to love you when you hurt. She'll always love you, Chandler," I promised him.  
"How can she love me if she was his?" he asked me.  
"Because she was yours too. She was yours and Ross's and Rachel's and Phoebe's. She's Gabriel's and Star's. She belongs to all the people who love her, who loved her in life and who will love her forever. Just like you'll belong to all the people who love you when you go. We aren't complete without the people who love us, Jack Daniels. You completed Monica and she completed you," I answered, touching his face, wiping away the tears that slid down his face.  
He stared up at me for a few minutes before turning away to stare at her gravestone once again.  
Pain. It was such an odd thing. The word brought thoughts of physical pain, the kind that caused blood and bruises, that left physical evidence on your body to prove you had been hurt. Sometimes it left scars, sometimes they healed and disappeared. Then there was emotional pain. Most people don't think of it the same way. It's an emotion, something felt in the heart, but not in the body. That wasn't true though. When your heart hurts your body hurts too. It was as physical as a broken bone, emotional pain. It cut through you, made you sick, weakened you, tore you apart, and could slowly kill you if you let it. It was a dangerous as any physical pain you could imagine. Maybe even more so.

As Chandler lay in my arms in the middle of the night next to the grave of a woman I had never known I wondered if his pain would kill him or would his heart let him heal.  
His steady breathing alerted me to the fact that he had fallen asleep. For a brief moment I wondered about waking him but decided not too. His emotions had exhausted him. He needed his rest. I needed mine I realized as my eyes began to droop. His emotions wore him out but trying to help him figure them out had worn me out as well I thought as I drifted off to sleep. 


	8. Chapter 8

_I'm sorry for not updating for awhile, and I apologize for any spelling/grammer errors. I've been writing and typing this very quickly. Classes started back up and I've been busy protesting the Republican National Convention that has invaded the good city of New York and tore it to pieces with their narrow minds. Anyway, that's enough about politics, enjoy._  
  
"It's not that I can't live without you. It's just that I don't want to try."

The softly whispered words drew me from my sleep and I fought to focus my eyes against the early morning sunlight as Chandler stared down at me with his soulful blue eyes.

I didn't speak, didn't know if there were words to say after the previous night. So I watched his eyes, eyes that stayed focused on me. He was looking for something inside of me. Answers? Questions? Hope? I didn't know, but maybe I was searching for the same things.

I felt the sunlight shining down on us, his arms wrapped around me, and very slowly his head began to descend. Closer, closer, closer.

His lips brushed mine gently as if testing, wondering what my reaction would be. Before finally his mouth took mine. The kiss was gentle still, searching, hoping, discovering. I didn't know how to react. I hadn't been kissed in so long and it felt so right to be in his arms, to be kissed. The feeling was heavenly.

Slowly, he began to pull away till finally his lips freed mine. Pressing his forehead against mine, he breathed deeply.

"Oh Monica," he whispered.

I felt the emotion begin and immediately shut it out of my heart. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment. It wasn't his fault. Gently, I pulled free of Chandler's arms.

"Joey," he began. I looked down at him, at the expression on his face, the emotions in his eyes and I smiled gently.

"Shh, Chandler. Don't worry about it," I soothed, holding my hand out to him.  
He took it and pulled himself up. He looked at me in silence and still I only smiled at him.

"How do you feel?" I asked, ignoring the look he gave me.

"I'm not sure yet. Before or after what just happened?" he countered.

"Before. Let's just forget that last part for now," I answered, holding his hand.

"Better than I have in a long time. I think I'm finally starting to understand it all. Because of you," he added.

I squeezed his hand gently and looked down at the gravestone at our feet.

"Now you need to learn to deal with the silence," I said, bringing my eyes back up to his.

"I'm not ready for that," he argued, shaking his head sadly.

"Yes, you are, Chandler. That's your next step. It's time to deal."

With his hand in mine, we made our way back to the street and hailed another cab. On the ride home we both remained silent, but his grip on my hand never lessened. If anything it was stronger than ever.

As the cab stopped outside of my house we climbed out. On my doorstep he looked up at me with those eyes that haunted me.

"Please don't leave me right now," he begged, his voice filled with unshed tears and with a fear words could not describe.

"I'm not leaving you, Chandler." I said, touching his face gently. "Go home, get some sleep. I'll see you tonight. I promise."

"I'm scared, Joey," he said still holding my hand.

"Good. That means you're feeling an emotion other than pain and anger. Go home, Chandler."

Gently I kissed his cheek, gave his hand a final squeeze, and left him on the steps as I went into my apartment. As I closed the doors I felt my original emotion from earlier sweeping back of me. That feeling at hearing Chandler call Monica's name when he kissed me.

"What have I done?" I moaned, sinking to the floor as I leaned against the door. "I've gone and fallen in love with the son of a bitch," I mumbled.

Why would I do that to myself? Why would I hurt myself so much knowing his heart still belonged to a woman for one thing, who has been dead for two years? Was there something in me that asked to be hurt? I closed my eyes against reality and let the memory of Chandler's lips wash over me.

"Glutton for punishment," I whispered, standing up finally.  
---

I walked into the bar later than usual.  
  
"Hey Joe," Frankie asked as I put my stuff behind the counter, "So how was your day off?"

"Great. I spent the whole day with Kane as usual." I said in a distracted manner. He didn't question me about it and continued the conversation.

"His birthday is coming up isn't it?" Frankie asked, smiling.

"Next month," I laughed as the first customer came in.  
  
At eight o'clock that night I didn't even bother to look up when I heard the door open. I knew without looking that it was Chandler.

"Can I talk to you?"

I jumped at the sound of his voice right behind me. Turning slightly, my eyes met his and the emotion in them scared me.

"What's wrong?" I asked him.

"Just give me a few minutes please?" he begged, touching my hand.

"Frankie, I'll be back in ten," I yelled over the music to my friend as I pulled Chandler back into the storeroom. "Are you all right?" I asked him.

"I got home this morning and my answering machine was blinking like crazy. Phoebe, Mike, Ross, Rachel. They all called worried to death about me when I didn't show up at Mike's party. They were terrified, Joey," he said, sitting down on the tiny cot he had once slept on.

"Is that what's bothering you?" I asked quietly, kneeling in front of him.

"I never even told them I would come for sure, but they honestly thought I would. I really scared them by not showing up," he continued, staring off, lost in the thoughts he was voicing to me.

"And their fear hurt you, didn't it?" I continued.

"Yes. It hurts because I hurt them. I never wanted to do that. I guess I never understand how my withdrawal from them was really affecting their lives," he admitted.

"They love you, Chandler. Watching you hurt so much hurts them too. And watching you pull away breaks their hearts as well. They lost Monica. They don't want to lose you too," I tried to explain.

"I kissed you this morning," he said, suddenly changing the subject as he looked down at me.

This time it was my turn to look away as I answered. "Yes, you did."

"Are you angry with me?"

"No, Chandler."

"But you are upset," he clarified.

"Because you kissed me as you imagined Monica. You took a step forward, but you let her pull you back," I answered.

"Is that all it was? Was it just because you think I still can't let go of her? Or was it something else? Joey?" he pressed, turning my face so our eyes met once again.

"Joey, I need you out here. We're packed," Frankie yelled from out front.

Scrambling to me feet, I pulled Chandler toward the door with me.

"Joey, please answer me," his voice begged of me. I stopped and looked at him for a moment. What would my answer be? The truth? A lie? Maybe a little of both?

"You're taking so many steps to find your life again, Chandler. I don't want to see you slip back into those shadows because of one mistake," I finally answered.

Without another word, we walked back out front. I wasn't given the chance to think much more on the subject though it never really left my mind. The dingy bar was packed that night and I never had another chance to stop and breathe let alone think.

At two o'clock Frankie left. As I turned the open sign to closed Chandler's voice drifted to me in the darkness.

"Was it a mistake for me to kiss you?" he asked softly.

I stopped with my hand still on the sign and let his question sink in. He was so confused, so lost. He had so much he still needed to do before he could see life again through eyes clear of betrayal and pain. Every time he turned to me for help I had to be careful of everything I said and did so as not to hurt him even more.

"It was if you really wanted to kiss Monica, if you were just trying harder to forget her," I answered just as softly as I turned to look at him in the dim lighting.

"What if I don't know why I did it? What if all I know is I wanted to kiss you?"

"Then you have to find out if it was really me you wanted to kiss."

"And if it was you?"

"Then you have to find out why and if you are ready to take a step like that."

"What step is that, Joey?" he asked, standing and moving towards me.

"I'm not a game to play with, Chandler. Don't do this to me," I warned, watching his movements as he grew closer. He reminded me of a cat stalking his prey, his body filled with grace.

"I'm not playing a game, Gelato," he answered.

"Stop," I screamed at him, holding my hand up to still his approach. "You are playing with me, damn it. I see it in your eyes. You want to see just how far you can push yourself before Monica's memory jerks you back. How far can you go, how much can you do before you let the pain pull you back in and drown you all over again? Well, I'm not playing and I won't be played with. You stand your ground against this, Chandler, or you walk away."

He stared at me in silence, my words completely unexpected and cold. They were all true though. I wasn't going to hurt myself to save him. No matter what emotions raged inside of my heart. I refused to drown myself while trying to save his life when I still wasn't sure whether he wanted to swim or sink in his emotions.

"Joey," he began, taking yet another step.

"No. You're teasing me, testing the waters. You want to see if you can invoke the kind of emotions in another human being that you think you can no longer feel. Well you can. I feel them, Chandler. Are you happy now? But I won't stand here and let you find out if you can do to me what you think Monica did to you," I said, feeling the burning in the back of my eyes.  
Now was not the time to cry, damn it. I couldn't lose control, not yet, not when I was fighting to survive the emotions raging within me as Chandler stood just a few feet away staring at me with those blue eyes.

"It's time to go, Chandler," I whispered.

"Please, Joey. I'm sorry," he begged.

"Go, Chandler," I repeated, stepping back so he could leave.

"Joey, I didn't mean to," he whispered, moving towards the door. He hung his head in what seemed to be defeat, his body void of the grace that had been there only moments before.  
He stopped at the door and looked back at me, his blue eyes brimming with tears.

"Chandler, when you wonder again why Monica always turned to Richard even though you were always there for her remember me," I said. Then I walked back to the storeroom until I heard the door close behind him.

I sat back there, alone in the darkness for a lifetime. Still I fought the tears that threatened to spill. Still I tried to calm the storm of emotions within me. I had screwed up so badly.  
Taking a deep breath, I walked back out front and pretended to clean up. My pretense didn't last long though before I broke down and sent the bar top of empty beer bottles and glasses crashing to the floor. The glass shattered and splinted everywhere as I collapsed behind the bar sobbing. I had screwed up so badly.


End file.
